


Euphoria

by xxpaynoxx



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:12:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7831654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpaynoxx/pseuds/xxpaynoxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically what happens after the win against Germany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Euphoria

Everything is _loud_.

It’s been loud ever since he slotted that ball into the back of the net, but it feels like the stadium has amplified as he collapses to his knees, tears forming in his eyes as Weverton embraces him, screaming _you did it_ in hysterical Portuguese.

The rest of the team follows, tackling him to the ground, and from there it’s a blur.

He finds Luan among all the yelling and singing, lying facedown on the ground, shoulders shaking as he sobs into his hands. Neymar pulls him up and presses his face into his neck, Luan’s hands clamped over his face as he sobs and whispers that they did it over and over and over in a shaky voice.

There’s yelling and singing and the feeling of a gold medal hanging from his neck as he fingers the medal stand they give him, the colors blurring as his eyes well up once more. There’s the anthem, and he nearly screams hoarse over the 80,000 people packed into the Maracanã.

There’s tattoos, blonde hair dye everywhere, and naturally, dancing and singing in the hotel ballroom. Luan finds him on the dance floor, and they move together for what feels like ages, Neymar’s hands gliding across his sweaty chest and Luan’s fingers tight on his hipbones, keeping him grounded to the floor in case he decides to float away on the continuous wave of euphoria.

Then, when he gets back to the room with Luan hanging off of his shoulder and Gabigol and Rafinha in tow, finally, it’s quiet.

Well, quiet- _er_.

Rafinha tumbles onto Neymar’s bed, still giggling and hiccuping from the champagne he’s injested, Neymar joining him. Rafinha goes to kiss him sloppily, teeth clashing together and tongue and spit everywhere, dribbling down Neymar’s chin as a ridiculous smile forms along his lips.

Rafinha breaks away first, kissing the top of his head, and looks at him. He doesn’t need to say anything; they’ve been through so much together, broken bones and torn ligaments and lost championships, that’s there's nothing he really _needs_ to say.

He gets up, and Neymar takes this opportunity to scoot onto the bed properly, moving so his back is propped against the pillows, pulling out his phone and scrolling through all of the notifications. Luan lies down in front of him, pulling up Twitter on his phone, and Gabigol chooses his own bed, lying down and staring at the ceiling.

Neymar is still on his phone when Rafinha comes out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth on one of the plush hotel towels. The headband is still around Neymar’s head; he forgot to take it off, it smells _terrible_. He kicks his shoes off, the soles lightly thudding against Gabigol’s bed frame, earning a frown from the younger Brazilian.

Rafinha goes to put a shirt on but chooses not to, instead preferring to slide onto the bed and press a kiss to Neymar’s cheek, winking and resting his head on his shoulder.

Luan has stretched his frame across the bed, lying on his side with Neymar’s socked feet tucked underneath his back, scrolling through Twitter. Gabigol still hasn’t moved since the time they got back, the only one of the four who is actually using his own bed.

Rafinha moves again, tugging on Neymar’s shirt and pulling him close to his chest, Neymar’s back flush with his chest, his arm curled around Neymar’s stomach. Luan, feeling the change in movement, tosses his phone across the room neatly onto the chair and moves until he’s facing Neymar on the other side.

His hands go to Neymar’s face and he kisses his forehead, a massive smile breaking out over his face, his eyes going glassy.

“We fucking did it,” he whispers, looking deep into Neymar’s eyes, who returns the smile and places a kiss on Luan’s lips. They’re soft and trembling, like he’s going to burst into tears of the umpteenth time tonight, but he holds it together, rubbing at Neymar’s roman numeral tattoo behind his ear with his thumb as they kiss slowly.

Rafinha’s hands are underneath his shirt now, short nails running along his abdominal muscles, and his lips are attached to his neck and Neymar can’t help but moan into Luan’s mouth, who takes the opportunity to sneak his tongue inside and lick across the roof of his mouth.

He feels exhilarated now, kissing Luan lazily and trembling under Rafinha’s steady, warm hands moving across his body, and it reminds him of tonight, of how that goal felt, of how the medal felt around his neck, not feeling heavy but rather light, lifting every problem he’s had away.

Luan moves away smoothly and cleanly, a massive smile pulling at his lips as he does so before pulling Neymar close to him, nails curling into his shirt as he holds him close, Neymar slowly shutting his eyes and pressing his face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his cologne. He feels Rafinha move closer, snuggling into his back and surrounding him with warmth.

“I don’t want to leave.”

Neymar feels every word rumbling in Luan’s chest, and he looks up at him. Luan’s eyes are screwed shut, lips turned down in a frown, bottom lip tucked inside of his mouth so he doesn’t cry. Neymar reaches up, to press his thumb to his chin and tell him it’ll be fine, but he stops as he hears movement and sees Gabigol enter his vision, getting there first and turning Luan’s face and smiling at him as he lies down, knees pressed behind Luan’s back.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again,” Gabigol says, rolling his eyes as he cups Luan’s face.

Luan still looks skeptical, but he relaxes as Gabigol speaks again, his deep voice sounding like caramel in Neymar’s ears.

“Look, we’ll see each other again. We’re Brazilian, we always find our way back to each other. And besides, we’ll probably be promoted to the national team with what we did here tonight.”

Neymar feels Luan relax against him, and he hears Gabigol lean until he’s behind Luan, and two strong arms move until they’re snug around Luan’s chest, pressing against Neymar. Luan reaches out until his fingers are intertwined with Neymar’s, and he holds their hands close to his chest, just above his heart as he shuts his eyes with a sigh.

They fall asleep like that, warm and happy, and when Neymar wakes up in the morning, Luan’s chest rising and falling in front of him, his heart beating into his chest, he finally feels whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> On August 20th, 2016, Brazil beat Germany 5-4 on penalties, giving Brazil their first gold medal in soccer in their country's history.


End file.
